


LOST: Part 3 featuring Panic! At The Disco, Green Day, Fall Out Boy,The Killers

by xxxPrettyOddxxx



Series: LOST [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Green Day, Lost, My Chemical Romance, Nirvana, Panic! at the Disco, The Killers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxPrettyOddxxx/pseuds/xxxPrettyOddxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of LOST. What happens when they get inside the Hatch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	LOST: Part 3 featuring Panic! At The Disco, Green Day, Fall Out Boy,The Killers

He woke up in his bunk bed, something he had long ago grown accustomed to, eventually acceding that it was not so bad. After he sat up, almost banging his head on the bunk above him, his first port of call for the day was the computer, which was beeping as it counted down the final four minutes. He walked over to it, ancient as it was, and paused only briefly to type six numbers: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42 and press execute. He wasn't wasting time, today could be the dawning of the rest of his life. It was no holiday, time could be running out.

He changed his beige jumpsuit into another one, a replica of the first, and then moved around the brightly painted room full of objects from older times, before turning on a record player which cheerfully played a song about making music alone and dancing to the beat of your heart, loud enough to cause hearing loss, and dodgy enough to be not worth it.

The man wandered over to a barbell and added weights to the ends, he pushed this up a few times, before moving to the treadmill. After this exercise routine, he had a shower before making himself oatmeal from a white and black can. He selected a vaccine from a shelf near by, thinks" I'll fix you", and plunges it into his shoulder.

Just moments later, his whole home begins to shake, killing the record player. He rushes to a gray room full of weapons and grabs a gun. In the corner of the room, is a gray elephant head. He puts it on. Then, he uses a security system of mirrors strategically down a hallway to see the cause of the explosion.

What he saw, was two men, both with dark hair, one with a top hat, the other with a long, black fringe, both in black clothes, though the latter looked underdressed, peering down into his home.

* * * *

Patrick gave Brandon a suggestive wink, and Brandon moved closer to the person guarding them as they moved rocks from the cliff face to an already overloaded wheelbarrow. The woman was obviously bored, and quite clearly didn’t want to babysit the prisoners.

“Excuse me?” Brandon asked, sounding nervous. The woman just gave him a questioning glance. It seemed any conversation directed at her would be dead on arrival, “There’s something odd in that rock.”

“Hmmph. Stay here.” And as easy as that, the gullible woman walked toward the cliff face. As she bent over to assess the rocks, Patrick creeped silently up behind her, he had a talent for getting around unnoticed. He reached for her gun, and pulled it out slowly and carefully. The woman was so preoccupied, that she didn’t even notice.

Patrick lifted the gun and pointed it right at her, praying it wasn't full of gold paint. He took a deep breath. Patrick would never have imagined himself actually killing someone. Yes, he was bitter, but he didn’t really want to hurt anyone. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger, worried he was doing it all wrong, and knowing there was a shortage of guns. He had 21 so far, but it wasn't enough.

He looked into Brandon’s eyes, his own filled with tears. Brandon reached for Patrick’s hand, but Patrick shook his head.

Their feelings would have to be put on the back burner for now.

“I can hear them coming Brandon, my hearing has been enhanced by years of Brendon's whispering. You need to get outta here, Godspeed you boy.” He pushed Brandon away.

“You’re not coming? I was hoping I could take you there with me, but it looks like I'm still on my own." Brandon sounded terrified. Clearly he thought his life was in danger.

“No, I have to find Ryan.” Patrick replied, knowing he would have to ride this decision home in the dark, but unfortunately he couldn't stay any longer.

Brandon nodded sadly, " Just don't pretend you ever forgot about me", before turning to run into the Perry infested jungle,

* * * *

Dave had been silent for many days, it seemed there was no way to talk to him. His Jesus stick had not left his side since the uprising of Niki Minaj's ass. He was bothered by the fact that he had let Katy get away with Ryan, even though it had now come out that Ryan was willing to betray them to an unknown party, but he also wondered just how intricately Ryan had woven his lies.

He found himself often taking walks through the jungle alone, his stick, which was now beautifully inscribed with the Gospel of Giving Up, was beginning to bend and break. It was the only thing walking beside him, and he found himself feeling so much older than he could take.

As he walked through the jungle, looking for direction, he heard a sound coming from not far away. It wasn’t a sound he found particularly threatening, it sounded like a person calmly heading in his direction, he could have sworn they were calling him by his name. He stopped to wait for whomever it may, although he didn’t really want company and at the moment, he wouldn't even care if he woke up dead.

* * * *

Brandon had discovered that he wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be, reading his own mind seemed well beyond the scope of his abilities. It took some roaming like a vagabond, but he realised he wasn’t even on the same island. This island seemed to be smaller, and inhabited by a large number of has-beens, including Justin Bieber, and it appeared they were all doing the Propoganda. The other island was close, but not quite swimming distance, and besides, Brandon had already expressed his phobia of swimming alone.

The only other real option was to steal a boat, and this bunch seemed to have plenty. It meant lurking in the bushes, trying to find a time when the boats were left unguarded, but Brandon didn't seem to mind that it was starting to get to him. Patrick had taught him enough about going unseen, so that now, it was only natural.

It was a little less than sixteen hours before the three boats he had found were alone, and he was almost asleep standing up by then. He moved quietly toward the one closest to the water, making sure to check that no one was around again. The coast seemed clear, so he carefully pushed the boat out toward the ocean. Brandon sat in it, putting an oar in each hand.

By the time he was halfway to the island, he had the feeling they had worked out who had taken their boat and weren’t impressed. This only compelled him to row faster, though his arms were aching. It wasn’t a particularly long row, but waves wanted to push him back towards the other island, and it was a long long long way down.

The only good thing that had occurred so far, was that no one had followed him. The worst thing, was that Patrick was back there, and he was afraid it might be Patrick who got punished.

He made it to the island, leaving the boat on the shore, then retreated into the jungle, hoping to find the others. Maybe they’d help him save Patrick. Then again, getting Pete on side would be hard… If he used the right kind of persuasion, he may be able to turn Pete, he didn't plan on fighting fair.

Night fell, and he found himself stumbling through the jungle in the dark, with no real sense of direction, and as the sun came, nothing had changed.

Brandon was heading in the direction he thought was correct, but he couldn’t really be sure.

After stumbling through a few more bushes and pulling apple shaped fruits off a strange looking tree, common sense as absent as usual, Brandon could’ve sworn he heard someone calling his name from the back of the jungle, and headed there. It quite possibly wasn’t the most intelligent option, but Brandon was desperate, so he headed toward the source of the noise.

The source of the noise was a wild looking man, hair overgrown and frizzed, and stubble highlighting his face. He carried with him a stick that had a collection of numbers and letters, the holy scriptures of the shopping mall and strangely enough, tigers that glowed neon, carved into it. His eyes were ringed by badly applied eyeliner Billy Joe had insisted he wear, so that he looked like a sad raccoon.

It took Brandon a few moments to recognise Dave. Dave just stood staring at Brandon, not speaking a word. Brandon had assumed he was a random jungle dweller, like Mowgli.

“Dave!” Brandon yelled excitedly. Dave seemed to be considering whether to answer or not. Brandon’s face clearly expressed his confusion, didn't Dave know who he thought he was?

Dave just shook his head, and Brandon wondered if the silence was an overcompensation for Dave's boring persona.

* * * *

Brendon found himself being lowered into the hatch on a rope. It was more than he had bargained for, but the ladder inside had turned out to be broken. Pete and Spencer were up the top manning the rope, lowering Brendon, and his top hat slowly down. If he ran into trouble, all he needed to do was scream Jazz Hands, and Pete would pull him up.

His torch illuminated the small, rectangular chamber.

His feet touched the ground, a novel experience,and he let go of the rope, and wandered into a hallway.

The walls were lined with strange graffiti, featuring numbers, and strange hieroglyphics . He also noticed all the mirrors hung around the walls. Ryan would’ve loved this.

It was exciting, and it was also the first real building he’d seen for a while now. He couldn’t stay looking at the closing walls and ticking clocks, however, he needed to keep moving.

Sadly, he didn’t get the chance to roam around wondering where the party went, for a crazed guy in an elephant suit with armed with a gun was behind him in moments.

“Come with me.” He growled. Or maybe it wasn’t a growl and his voice was just muffled by the ridiculous item he had over his head. Scientists are a strange bunch.

Back above the hatch, Pete was freaking out. Nothing abnormal, Pete had these anxiety attacks often.

“Spence, he’s not coming up. We told him to check if it were safe, and come back up. Something’s wrong.” Pete was speaking fast, clearly worried for Brendon.

“Sit back and relax Pete! He’s Brendon, did you really expect him to do as we said?” Spencer sounded fine, but really he was a wreck. They had just sent his best friend down into a hole which had the numbers inscribed on the outside. Those numbers were bad, he knew it, yet the others didn’t believe him. “4, 8 15, 16, 23, 42.” He repeated over and over in a whisper.

“What Spencer?” Pete questioned.

“Uh, nothing Pete.”

“I’m going down there Spencer, and I'm going down swinging. I’m not leaving him down there if something has gone wrong, that's just who I am this week.

Spencer gulped, “Okay.” And grabbed the rope. He held it tight as Pete lowered himself down.

All was well, until the rope slipped through Spencer’s hands, burning them until they bled, and giving Pete a long fall to the concrete floor. He hit the bottom with a huh!, quite strange, and it took him a few minutes to find enough composure to get up. It hurt to walk, and he had the blowing wind in his face, but he needed to find Brendon.

He walked down a hallway with strange murals on the walls, but he didn’t have time to stop and admire them. He followed the hallway into an orange room.

“Don’t move.” A voice with a distinctive Irish accent that seemed oddly muffled yelled. The last time Pete had heard those words, he’d ended up shooting two people and letting the others get away with Brandon and Patrick. They had Ryan too, but Pete didn’t particularly care, there was always collateral damage, and Ryan was an absolute prat.

He didn’t move, just looked around trying to find the source of the voice.

Upon completing a 180, with none of his usual young and reckless style, he saw a man with an elephant head on his head, holding Brendon by the back of his overcoat with a gun aimed at his head.

Brendon looked unnerved in an awkward,embarrassed sort of way. His eyes looked right into Pete’s as if he were trying to communicate something.

“How’d you get down here?” Elephant head asked.

“We blew open the top with dynamite.” Pete replied, eyes focused on Brendon.

“Where did you come from?”

"Under a cork tree on the beach. Our plane crashed.”

“It crashed here? On this island?” Elephant man sounded alarmed and not because of the clocks.

“Uh huh. Now, can you please let Brendon go? He's the new cancer and has never looked better, so yeah............”

“Weapons?”

“I have a few words and Brendon is unarmed.” Pete sighed. What the hell was this man doing down here? It wasn't conventional and sure as hell not normal. He moved the gun away from Brendon’s head, but didn’t release the hold he had on his overcoat.

Pete moved toward them, hoping like hell the man wouldn’t aim the gun at him. Instead, the man took off the elephant head, revealing none other than Chris Martin, the lead singer of Coldplay.

“Chris?” Pete was speechless. The fact that there was a hatch with a man in it was enough on it’s own, but to find out who the man was, well, that was pretty odd. The look on Brendon’s face indicated that he was shocked too. “How’d you end up here?”

Not that Pete knew where here was. He did, however, know where he should be. Soundwave in Melbourne Australia.

He had been waiting for years for the opportunity to go and see his favourite audience and was understandably crushed, especially after writing all those songs for them and them alone

“That’s kind of hard to explain.” He waited for the two men to tell him it didn’t need to be explained, but such a phrase was not forthcoming. The confusion never stopped. He sighed. “I was in a sailing race around the world, when I lost steering. It only wanted to go one way, towards this island. The compasses went haywire and I had no idea where I was. When I got here, I wandered, hoping to find some civilisation. I found another door to this hatch, one that’s now covered by overgrown vines, and I banged on it with faint hopes that someone was inside. Eventually, someone in a hazmat suit came out and dragged me inside, before taking my blood type, injecting me with something and changing my clothes. Then, he explained what this is.”

“And what is it?” Brendon asked.

“This, is the Dharma Initiative swan station.”

“The Dharma-what-now?”

“Maybe you should watch this.”

Chris led them to an old projector and inserted a reel. A octagon with four lines per side surrounding showed up, The Dharma Initiative written underneath. The same symbol popped up again, this time with a white swan inside the octagon. An Asian man in a lab coat appeared on the white wall. “Welcome. I am Dr. Marvin Candle, and this is the orientation film for station 3 of the Dharma Initiative.

Give me a moment and you will be given simple set of instructions for how you and your partner will fulfill the responsibilities associated with the station. But first, a little history.” What looks like a university campus takes the place of Dr. Candle. “The Dharma Initiative was created in 1970, and is the brainchild of Gerald and Karen DeGroot, two doctoral candidates at the University Of Michigan. Following in the footsteps of visionaries such as B.F. Skinner, they imagined a large-scale communal research compound where scientists and free-thinkers from around the globe could pursue research in meteorology, psychology, parapsychology, zoology, electromagnetism, and utopian social…” The movie skipped, cutting out a small part. “...clusive Danish industrialist and munitions magnate, Alvar Hanso, whose financial backing made their dream of a multi-purpose, social-science research facility a reality.” The man in the lab coat reappears.

“You and your partner are currently located in station three, or The Swan, and will be for the next 540 days. The station 3 was originally constructed as a laboratory, where scientists could work to understand the unique electromagnetic fluctuations emanating from this sector of the island. Not long after the experiments began, however, there was... an 'incident'... and since that time, the following protocol has been observed:

Every 108 minutes, the button must be pushed. From the moment the alarm sounds, you will have 4 minutes to enter the code into the microcomputer processor…” The tape skipped again. “ ...duction into the program. When the alarm sounds, either you or your partner must input the code. It is highly recommended that you and your partner take alternating shifts. In this manner you will both stay as fresh and alert…” Another small skip. “...most importance, that when the alarm sounds, the code be entered correctly and in a timely fashion.

Now, do not attempt to use the computer…”

The screen turned black and small stripes of white flashed through it as it tried to recover from a large skip.

“That piece of the film is missing. There's a hole where something was, I’m not sure why.” Chris mentioned.

The man appeared once more. “Congratulations! Until your replacements arrive, the future of the project is in your hands.

On behalf of the DeGroots, Alvar Hanso, and all of us at the Dharma Initiative, thank you, namaste, and... good luck.” A mildly inspiring end.

* * * *

Brandon followed Dave, in silence, back to the beach, feeling as though something was wrecking this evening already. It was particularly quiet tonight, Brendon and Pete were off on some adventure, and of course Patrick was still on the other island. Tre Cool was spending some quality time with his own rage. Other than that, and smoking coals from last night’s fires, the campsite was empty.

Brandon wanted to know where the others were, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to ask Tre, so he sat at the campsite he had once shared with Patrick.

* * * *

The hatch was like a little underground house. That was about all that could be said. The only things you wouldn’t find in an average house was a room full of rifles, which at Chris Martin’s request, were hidden in bibles, and the storeroom, which had enough food to last two people five years.

What didn’t make sense was the lack of partnership. The orientation video had stated that Chris would have a partner.

“How long have you been here Chris?” Brendon questioned.

“I’m not entirely sure. Longer than 540 days though.” He replied in his Irish accent.

“Where’s your partner?”

“Uh, well, he went outside, on the island, and he- uh, he never came back.”

They nodded, not really knowing what else to say, each wanting to save some face.

Pete glanced around the room. It wasn’t particularly exciting on a normal day, but it was when you hadn’t seen anything resembling a house in quite a while and you could have knocked him out with a feather.

Brendon and Pete attempted to befriend the strange man, hoping this would compel him to share his food with them. He still seemed to be in shock.They thought Patrick was no good with words but this guy was worse. It had been a while since he had seen another person. It was an overdramatic conversation, one that seemed dead on arrival for quite awhile, full of small talk, it didn’t really seem to be going anywhere.

Eventually, they found themselves carrying Dharma ranch dressing and apollo bars back to the beach. Everyone, which was actually quite a small collection of people, would love this.

* * * *

Brandon was still sitting alone, when he saw Pete, Brendon and Spencer approaching. They glanced in his direction, looked away, and then looked back. Classic double take. He couldn’t help but notice an exchanging of words. They were all whispering to each other, filling their crowd with rumours, probably suspecting another set up. They had already decided, that from now on, they were enemies with Ryan, and the others were somewhat suspicious.

“Brandon?” Pete called. Brandon stood up. “How the hell did you get back?”

“Patrick… He, uh, he helped me get out of there. But he’s still there and I’m afraid they’ll punish him for helping me get away. Obviously, I left him high and dry. They had us locked in cages, and lifting rocks.” His voice was frantic, and almost too fast to be understood.

“Slow down, where exactly is ‘there’?”

“The other island. It’s smaller, and it’s not really far away.” He pointed in the direction he thought the other island was in. “I had to steal a boat and row it from their island to ours.

“And who are they?”

“Obama and Katy Perry. Oh, and Justin Bieber and Ryan! I think they had Nicki Minaj and her ass until Dave got her. There’s more, but I really can’t remember.”

Even though this particular analysis of whom he had seen sounded crazy, they were inclined to believe that Obama was leading them. Katy and Nicki had already been seen, and really, the president had proven before that there was no limits to his evil. It wasn’t exactly farfetched that he would take over an island and kidnap it’s other inhabitants.

“Is- uh- Is Patrick okay? Like, last time you saw him?” Pete stuttered, embarrassed that he even cared.

“Yeah, he was. I don’t know how he is now though.”

* * * *

Brandon’s sooky and sulky, yet irresistible allure had had the desired effect on Pete, and three days later they found themselves planning Patrick’s rescue. Pete was wishing he could tell Patrick he’d just made his list of things to do today, along with washing his makeup stained pillowcase. It hadn’t really crossed Pete’s mind that Brandon may be using him, and it had only crossed Brandon’s very briefly. He really wasn’t sure what he was doing. He tried not to think about it too much, he tended to slip when the nights got wild.

Brendon, Brandon, Pete, Spencer and Chris were sitting around a fire one night, planning how to get passed the guards on the other island, when they heard a person walking toward them. They glanced up, only vaguely interested in who it might be. Whoever it was was interrupting an important planning session, which wasn’t appreciated.

Their interest grew when they worked out who it was.

* * * *

Ronnie was holding the stick when it exploded in his hands. He didn’t really have time to think anything, but if he did, it surely would have been relative to his need to push out a poo.

He also didn’t feel a lot, it just happened too fast, to be honest, it wasn’t until he woke up that he even realised he had blown up.

Wait, he had woken up? Had September ended?

It took a few seconds to understand to just a certain extent. He wasn’t dead or decomposing as he had a habit of doing, he was lying in the grass next to the mausoleum But how? He had blown up, he could’ve sworn it.

“Hello Ronnie.” A voice came from somewhere nearby. It sounded vaguely familiar.

“Who’s there?” His voice was shaky, and this time, it wasn’t because his energy was focused on pushing his butt muscles open. He looked at his body, and found nothing abnormal, even his constipated buttocks had made it to… whatever this was.

“Why, only the reason you’re alive.”

* * * *

“Ronnie?” Brandon asked, not sounding surprised.

“No, Brandon, it can’t be. You see, uh, Ronnie blew up when we were finding dynamite…” Pete whispered, uncertain he was even right and forgetting how much he hated whispering.

“My band mate blew up and you didn’t think you should tell me?” Brandon hissed back.

Pete never got to reply, though he was weighed down with words.

“Uh, yeah, it’s me. Surprise?” Ronnie said nervously.

“But how?” Brendon asked, head shaking as if he couldn’t believe that this man was standing in front of him. If the scene were a parish, they would all be condemned.

“Well, this man, he kinda brought me back to life, to help him.”

“He didn’t have the good sense to rid you of constipation in the process though.” Brendon was slightly sarcastic.

Pete nudged Brendon hard in the ribs and whispered, “Shut your mouth!”

Ronnie pretended not to notice, sick of everyone making jokes about his constant need to poo.

Brandon, shock finally subsiding somewhat, spoke, “Who was he Ronnie?” He was trembling as he let the words out.

“Kurt.”


End file.
